Albert Laighton

Though the sexton, grim and old,
Turns the mould.
Damp and cold.
In the churchyard, for the bed
...

The days are growing longer now;
On yonder elm-tree's topmost bough,
On the gilded cross that crowns the spire,
...

I wandered alone beside the stream;
The tide was out and the sands were bare;
The tremulous tone of the sea-bird's scream
...

I wearied of the stormy hours,
And shaped my song to murmuring words;
I longed to hear the song of birds
...

Dear, lovely flower, whose fragrant lips unclose
To breathe a benediction to the Spring,
Soon as the blue-bird and the robin sing;
...

Oft have I walked these woodland paths,
Without the blessed foreknowing
That underneath the withered leaves
...

After the twilight dies,
In the distance vague and dim,
While Hesperus still like a jewel lies
On the dark horizon's rim,
...

Grand in his dreamless sleep our Admiral lies,
The brave heart still, so fondly loved and blest;
...

Come forth, beloved, to the night
What though no stars are in the skies
Enough for me the loving light
...

Found dead! dead and alone!
There was nobody near, nobody near
When the Outcast died on his pillow of stone
...

They are the ghosts of flowers,
The blossoms of fairer hours,
I see on the window-pane!
...

I walked alone in depths of autumn woods;
The ruthless winds had left the maple bare
The fern was withered, and the sweetbrier's breath
...

All day long with a vacant stare,
Alone in the chilling Autumn air,
With naked feet he wanders slow
Over the city, — the idiot Joe!
...

Again the Summer's golden prime
The wealth of June discloses;
Heaven wears its fairest robe of blue,
And Earth its crown of roses.
...

No tread of armed men;
No lightning-flash, and then
The thunder's roar!
No life-blood ebbing fast;
...

Like an azure vein from the heart of the main,
Pulsing with joy for ever,
By verdurous Isles, with dimpled smiles,
Floweth my native river.
...

What though they boast of fairer lands,
Give me New England's hallowed soil,
The fearless hearts, the swarthy hands
...

Within this crystal, circled with fine gold,
I keep my treasure with a miser's care;
A silken curl of silver-sprinkled hair
...

The earth was without form and void; the deep
Wore on its face a pall of death-like gloom.
A secret spark kindled by Breath Divine,
...

Ages since, men heard the ringing
Of the song-bells gently swinging
In the starry domes of thought;
Long they listened to the chimes
...